


Choosing You

by LuckyBossuet



Series: Dahlia Verse [6]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Enjolras/Grantaire-centric, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Porn with Feelings, Sex, Trans Enjolras, Trans Male Character, they're in love okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 23:15:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29215524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuckyBossuet/pseuds/LuckyBossuet
Summary: Grantaire is home from working abroad, Enjolras has a question
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Series: Dahlia Verse [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1784437
Comments: 2
Kudos: 32





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to my wonderful betas!: [Les Amis DCD](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlmostARealHobbit/pseuds/les%20Amis%20DCD) and [muse_in_absentia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/muse_in_absentia/pseuds/muse_in_absentia)

Enjolras hurries around the dining room in his and Grantaire’s apartment, trying to make everything perfect. 

Grantaire has been away for the last two months, he’s been hired by the National Gallery in London to restore one of their Rembrandts, and Enjolras has been missing his boyfriend. Video calls are never quite as good and R has never been away for so long before.

The tablecloth is straight on their carved dining table, a housewarming present from Feuilly, the plates for their starters —spring rolls, one of Grantaire’s favourites— out ready for serving and Enjolras hasn’t burned anything, not even the brigadeiros. He rewatched R’s video tutorial/recipe ten times in a row to be sure he’d get them right —he also may have called Musichetta and been shouted at through the phone, but that’s another issue. Everything is ready except for Enjolras.

He has changed his shirt about 3 times. The first he managed to spill batter on, the other two times he sweated so much that he soaked through, causing large patches under his arms and down his chest.

Carefully, he arranges the dahlias he bought for the occasion on the centre of the table, an inside joke after the misunderstanding four years ago and a nod to Enjolras’ disastrous attempt to ask Grantaire out in the first place.

_ Thank God we can just laugh about it now _ , he thinks.

His phone pings with a text:

##  [Message from R 💚]

**R** 💚 **:** hey, just got through security, home soon

**Enjolras:** I can’t wait! Are you sure you don’t want me to come pick you up?

**R** 💚 **:** i’m sure. See you soon 💚

**Enjolras:** 💗

He looks around the room before realising what he’s forgotten.

Realising, Enjolras runs into their bedroom and unlocks his rucksack, where he keeps his documents for work and, for the last six months, a small black velvet box containing a silver ring.

He goes back to the kitchen and places it on the brigadeiros tray in the fridge, ready for serving at the end of the meal.

Half an hour later, the door unlocks and Enjolras jumps up from the sofa, where he’s been reading through his Twitter and trying to relax. It may not be the best combination for most people, but shouting at right-wingers relaxes him.

He feels like his face might split in two with a grin that he can’t refrain from when he sees Grantaire open the door, a bit tired and dragging a suitcase behind him, a matching grin on his face when he spots Enjolras.

Grantaire flings himself at Enjolras, wrapping arms around the other man’s waist and kissing him. When they break apart, breathless, Enjolras whispers: “I missed you, Dearest.”

“I missed you too, Darling,” Grantaire replies, pressing a kiss onto Enjolras cheek, nuzzling where Enjolras hair is shorn close to his scalp.

Pulling back, Grantaire sniffs the air. “What’s cooking, good looking?” he asks, eliciting a snort of laughter from Enjolras.

“Dinner! I cooked,” he starts pulling his boyfriend over to the dining table, “I thought you might want something special.”

“This is special! Candles, tablecloth and— Oh wow, you got dahlias! I love it.”

“I’m glad!” Enjolras directs Grantaire to a chair, kissing his crown. “I’ll get the starter.”

The meal passes quickly; they’re both hungry, Enjolras because he was saving room and had a small lunch and Grantaire says he hasn’t managed to eat since breakfast.

When Enjolras stands up to get dessert along with his final surprise, Grantaire notices that Enjolras’ hands are shaking.

“Babe, are you okay?”

“Hmm?” He looks up innocently.

“Your hands are shaking.” Grantaire reaches out to hold one of them. “Is everything okay?”

Enjolras kisses Grantaire’s knuckles to reassure the other man. “I’m fine, I promise.”

He then hurries into the kitchen before Grantaire can see him turning either red, he isn’t sure if he’s more terrified or embarrassed.

_ Terrified I think, it’ll be ‘embarrassed’ if he says no _ .

After organising the desserts around strawberries —both of them have them as a ‘healthy’ treat according to their very specific logic that, if there’s fruit involved, it’s basically a salad— Enjolras tries to relax, taking a deep breath and counting down from ten.

He carries the plates out, trying to avoid showing the black box in the middle of Grantaire’s plate, and places them on the table. He sits in an attempt to hide that he’s shaking like a leaf.

“You made briga—” Grantaire cuts himself off as he sees the box. “Enj… What’s this.”

Enjolras takes another deep breath and moves around the table, kneeling next to it to face Grantaire.

“In—” he gulps as his voice cracks when he starts speaking, “in the time I’ve known you, we’ve both grown. I’ve become more relaxed, you’ve become more confident in your own worth. One thing that’s changed is my view on marriage. I used to see it as unnecessary, something that I would never want to take part in, a societal norm that sprung from men’s desire to own and control their daughters and wives, something which is appalling to me, so I never wanted part of it. But now, there are so many reasons to marry. Tax benefits and hospital care rights are obvious ones, but there are others. It makes it a lot easier, especially as a same-sex couple, for people to believe this is serious, for housing purchases and for adoption, which we’ve both shown interest in when it’s been discussed, more so recently, with our respective successes at work—”

“Am I meant to be taking notes or?” Grantaire laughs, obviously knowing where this is going, but more than happy to indulge his boyfriend and soon-to-be-fiancé.

“No, just give me your answer at the end, please. Where was I?

“Right, it also means that we have a reminder that the other loves us, that there isn’t anyone else we want to consider. Four years ago, no, even earlier than that, we chose each other. When I asked you to be my boyfriend, I was choosing you, and you chose me in return. And I’ve been choosing you every day since, and I hope you’ve been choosing me too.

“So Grantaire, will you let me choose you every day from now on, and will you choose me in return?”

Grantaire has tears in his eyes and tracks of them trailing down his cheeks as he tries to speak, swallowing thickly.

“Yes, God, Enj. Yes,” he manages, voice thick with emotion.

Enjolras beams, his eyes welling up too now, as he opens the box, the food forgotten, and slips the silver band onto Grantaire’s finger.

Now that he’s given his answer and received his ring, Grantaire stops holding back and surges forward to meet Enjolras in a rough, desperate kiss, rougher than the one he gave when he got home, this one full of emotion that he can’t press down. Enjolras is startled for a second, before sighing into the kiss, deepening it, pressing forward himself, making it more passionate, more needy, more _ everything _ .

He grabs at Grantaire’s scruffy hoodie, trying to remove the clothing blocking from what he wants, wants to hold, wants to touch, feel, have. Grantaire, realising where this is going, breaks away only long enough to remove his hoodie and t-shirt in one go, striping Enjolras’ shirt a split second after, kissing the surgery scars on Enjolras’ chest before trailing up, to his shoulders, his neck, his jaw and back to his lips, all the while clumsily tugging at his belt.

“Too much of this, take it off,” he demands. Enjolras takes no time to comply, probably the fastest he’s ever done what someone’s told him.

Later, as they lie in bed, sated, Enjolras rolls so that his head now lies on Grantaire's chest. Grantaire brings his arm around to rub small circles on Enjolras' back, making his  _ fiancé _ sigh happily.

“That was really romantic you know,” Grantaire whispers into his lover’s hair, “and such an amazing welcome home.”

“It was?” Enjolras questioned, leaning up on his elbows to look at Grantaire. “All I did was ask a question.”

“Well, for one it wasn’t just any  _ question _ was it? And second, the dinner, with my favourite foods, a recipe that means a lot to me, then giving me a whole-ass speech on why you changed your mind on marriage after you started dating me, not to mention the flowers from your  _ terrible _ attempt to ask me out. That’s Grade A romance, Enjy.”

Though his tone is joking, there’s a soft look on Grantaire’s face as he says this and brings a hand up to stroke Enjolras’ cheek.

“Oh,” Enjolras says, “I wasn’t even trying. When I’ve tried romantic gestures they haven’t worked, but I wasn’t even trying to this time. I just wanted it to be special for you.”

“And that’s exactly why it was. But, Enjolras, all I need to say yes to a proposal,” Grantaire gently kisses Enjolras’s nose, “is for you to be the one proposing. Now c’mere.”

He pulls Enjolras back down, stroking the other man’s arm and they fall asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Grantaire wakes up to a warm weight on his left side and something tickling his neck.

Opening his eyes, he is greeted with a mess of blond curls, or what will be curls once their owner has run his fingers through them, or whatever magic it is he uses on them. Currently, it’s more like an extremely yellow cloud.

As he takes a moment to enjoy having his boyfriend, no not boyfriend, his  _ fiancé _ —Grantaire doesn’t think he’ll get used to that anytime soon— in his arms again, Enjolras murmurs something in his sleep that sounds like Grantaire’s name. Grantaire presses a kiss into Enjolras’ hair, taking in his smell, before leaving the bed to find a pair of boxers and heading to the kitchen.

Grantaire always wakes up early after a flight, regardless of the destination or the starting point, and the clock on the wall confirms this by telling him that it’s only six am.

“Ugh, great,” he groans when he checks his phone to find that they’re not meeting everyone at the Musain until half twelve. He nearly turns his camera on to send a picture of his ring to the group chat, but he knows that both he and Enjolras will get a kick out of seeing their friends’ faces in person.

He’s tempted to return to bed, given the early hour, but he’s desperate for some  _ conscious _ alone time with Enjolras, before submitting himself to the experience that is his friends after one of their number has been gone. The last time this happened was for Marius and Cosette’s honeymoon, where they left for Spain for three weeks and were subjected to a cuddle pile and questions for a week afterwards. Of course, this time, Grantaire will be on the receiving end of said probing.

He has only just managed to make himself an instant coffee —something they only keep in for rushed mornings— and Enjolras a tea before the tell-tale  _ thud _ comes from their bedroom and a bleary-eyed Enjolras emerges, duvet still wrapped around his body, to drag Grantaire back to bed. He complies easily, never one to pass up morning snuggles-and-maybe-other-things-once-Enj-has-a-brain, settling back in bed, one arm around Enjolras, the other keeping his coffee secure. The tea has been deposited on Enjolras’ bedside table, ready for him to drink.

Enjolras wakes up in stages that Grantaire has gleefully recorded in his head as he’s discovered and been able to categorise them. Conference with Combeferre and Courfeyrac, as well as Enjolras’ sister Diana when they visited her, confirmed that this has been the case since puberty.

The first stage is simple, Enjolras is  _ just _ awake enough to go to the bathroom, get a glass of water or find whoever it is that so rudely moved when they were being used as a space heater —for the last few years, that has been Grantaire. He is only vaguely aware of his surroundings and may even forget some of his actions during this time. It is very rare for Enjolras to speak during this stage.

In the second stage, Enjolras is able to do routine tasks, like brush his teeth, change his clothes and is awake enough that Grantaire won’t worry about him choking on toast or whatever he’s quickly shoved into his mouth for breakfast on his way to the office. This is the stage where he begins to be able to mostly hold up and remember conversations. It is also the stage most similar to Enjolras right before bed.

Stage three features an Enjolras who is mostly awake, he can hold up conversations easily, but he should not be trusted around kitchen implements yet and is easily distracted and often zones out. This stage passes quickly into stage four, or fully conscious Enjolras.

Currently, Enjolras is at stage 2, his head buried back into Grantaire’s shoulder, emerging occasionally to sneak a kiss or reach for his tea.

Enjolras becomes fully awake around forty minutes later, and decides to inform Grantaire of that fact by climbing onto him, moving the mugs and grinding into Grantaire’s lap. He kisses Grantaire’s neck, jaw, cheeks, lips, his hands travelling teasingly up and down Grantaire’s sides, lips finding the right spots to make Grantaire buck into him.

“God, Enj-Enjolras,” he pants, grasping at Enjolras’ back, hips, thighs, pulling him closer, even though the only thing separating them is his own boxers and the laws of physics. His head falls back against the headboard, making him grateful for the pillows he’d moved to cushion his head, as he loses all coherency and can only manage gasps and moans around Enjolras’ name. He still marvels at how Enjolras knows exactly where to touch him to turn him to putty in his hands.

He feels himself hardening, and gasps out, asking Enjolras to touch him. He can feel Enjolras getting wet about him. He moves his hands and flips them over, Enjolras under him smiling and pulling off Grantaire’s underwear. Enjolras moves slowly, touching, caressing as he goes, stroking Grantaire and smirking at the choking sound it produces.

They go slowly. Last night, they were all hands, desperate and welcoming and need. This time, they are slow and loving, a love letter written in caresses. Grantaire kisses where he knows Enjolras is most sensitive, hands travelling south, electing beautiful moans and gasps. 

Soon, Grantaire is fully hard, and it’s not long before Enjolras wraps his arms around Grantaire’s neck and begs “please, R, I- I need.” Grantaire knows his lover well enough that he doesn’t need to finish the sentence, Grantaire is already preparing himself, scrabbling in a drawer for a condom and putting it on, apologising for the loss of touch when Enjolras whines in protest as he does so. To make up for the lost contact, Enjolras moves his own hands to touch himself. 

Grantaire nearly stops, seeing Enjolras pleasure himself does  _ things _ to him. Enjolras sees Grantaire staring, and grabs his arm, pulling him back, kissing him firmly. Grantaire shifts, moving to a position that will be more comfortable for them both. Enjolras wraps his legs around Grantaire’s waist to hold him close.

“Okay? Like this?” Grantaire carefully moves himself to Enjolras entrance, when Enjolras just nods, he asks: “Words, Enjy, remember words?”

“God, R yes, fuck,” he demands, needy and desperate and oh so beautiful, already falling apart under Grantaire, hair spread out on their pillows.

Grantaire holds Enjolras’ arms above his head with one hand, the other on Enjolras’ hips, most likely leaving a mark, and kisses Enjolras’ neck as he thrusts into him. Both of them soon devolve into pants and parts of the other’s name, Enjolras’ fingers scratching into Grantaire’s back, as if desperate to not let him go. They unravel more and more with each thrust, meeting each other in the middle, their rhythm more habit than thought or purpose. They say  _ I love you _ with each movement, each touch, each kiss.

Enjolras moans and, finally, cries Grantaire’s name out, back arching towards the ceiling, tension in his body unravelling, leaving him loose with a great sigh, only moments before Grantaire’s head snaps up and he goes silent with pleasure, before panting through his orgasm. He pulls out of Enjolras, disposing of the condom and crawling back, kissing Enjolras to apologise for the necessary abandonment. Grantaire can feel Enjolras’ fast beating heart, and knows his own matches.

“I’ve missed this,” Enjolras whispers, still dazed, nuzzling into Grantaire’s hair where it’s spread on his chest. “I’ve missed you, so much.”

Grantaire looks up. “I’ve missed you too.” he presses a gentle kiss to Enjolras’ mouth before he lets himself be held again.

Far too soon, the sweat becomes uncomfortable; they take turns to shower and dress before heading to the kitchen. Neither can be bothered cooking, so they pour cereal and eat it shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh on the sofa, talking about what little things have happened when they were apart. The flowers Enjolras keeps trying to plant on the balcony have died again, Grantaire was on the tube and saw a rat fight a pigeon at one of the stations.

**Drwho:** back again gain gain

**Unlucky charms:** R is back back back

**Drwho:** tell a friend friend friend

**Chetta:** I apologise for my boyfriends, I asked them not to

Obviously, I am still excited for R being back! Missed you, irmão

**Courfeedme:** You guys planned a Backstreet Boys parody and didn’t invite me!

I’m _offended_ I tell you!!

Welcome home R!

**Eponine99:** Welcome home, asshole!

Ferre hasn’t had coffee yet and is half asleep but says welcome home too!

**Poetree:** Welcome home, R! Your plant is doing well, so I hope that means you are too! <3

**Feuilledbyspite:** Welcome back!

**Barrel:** Welcome back bro!

**Maius:** Welcome home! Cosette is cooking but she says welcome home too!

**Rtist:** thanks! It’s good to be home

Cant wait to see yall later!

Grantaire quickly snaps a picture of Enjolras and sends it with the caption:

**Rtist:** Dandelion gave me a great welcome too 😉

Enjolras reads this message and squeaks, embarrassed, batting him with a cushion, “R, why would you send that.”

He doesn’t look mad though, more fondly exasperated, as Grantaire pecks his cheek and answers with a grin. “Because I love you, and you look beautiful in this light.”

Enjolras turns red at the comment, shoving his face into his palms, only emerging when Grantaire pulls him close and presses kisses behind his ears, where the shorn hair meets the longer curls.

“It was really cool, honestly, bit surreal, but cool.” Grantaire has a grin on his face as he recounts the story.

“Who won?” Enjolras asks, around a spoonful of honey coated cornflakes.

“I wish to God I knew, train left before I could get a proper look.”

They’re still talking when Grantaire’s phone, still on vibrate, distracts them by blowing up with notifications, the buzzing nearly taking it off the end of the coffee table.


End file.
